


ashes to ashes (we all fall down)

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [19]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), mentions of precursor mind-control, so have herms kidnapping newt and running off to italy together, the only time that bastard's canon is when i'm playing "torture the cinnamon roll", well it's a hopeful ending, y'all im salty the uprising ppdc sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 01:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Post-Uprising, the PPDC has no intention of ever allowing Newt any freedom. Hermann has other plans.





	ashes to ashes (we all fall down)

**Author's Note:**

> for the anon prompt: "Newmann and “I can’t. I just can’t, okay? So, don’t make me.”"

The glassy gaze on Newton— _Newt’s_  eyes is one that Hermann still isn’t used to; hell, he’s never going to get used to it, used to seeing this man, his Drift-partner, lab-mate, behind glass, eyes glazed over from the effort of keeping the Precursors at bay.

“When can he leave?” he asked the medical officers the first week, still naively hopeful. “When can he—when can he come back?” _To me?_

She’d given him a blank stare. “Doctor Gottlieb, the prisoner will likely remain under PPDC supervision for the rest of his life.” The prisoner, she says, like he’s just that; just another one of the PPDC detainees. Hermann wanted to take her by the shoulders, ask her  _do you understand who Newt Geiszler is? Can you possibly comprehend?_

They don’t comprehend; that’s the problem. They want to treat him as if he bears sole responsibility for the damage, instead of having to accept the harsh reality that, though it may have been his hands coding that code, they weren’t doing it of his own free will.

They don’t want to face the fact that Newton Geiszler is a victim, too; they don’t want to accept that he had no control, because accepting that means admitting the world isn’t black and white and clean-cut. The PPDC—hah, what a joke. What was once the last defense of humanity is now an over-glorified militia run by  _children_ with no experience.

He looks at the glassy eyes of Newton Geiszler, bound to a chair in a straight-jacket in a white-padded room, limp from exertion, and thinks, _I cannot let this go on any longer._

Two days later, they’re on a plane to Italy; Newt’s wrists, rubbed raw by the bindings he’s had on for months, are hidden under Hermann’s jumper, the knit sleeves coming to his palms. He leans into Hermann, blinking slowly. “Is he alright?” the stewardess asks.

“He’s fine,” Hermann replies, a strained smile on his lips, “it’s just his medications; he gets nervous on flights, you understand.” She smiles, nods, bids them a good flight.

Newton always did say he was a terrible liar.

He’s had ten years to practice.

Hermann situates Newt into the seat next to him. Without the red-tinted sunglasses, and in an over-large knit sweater, Newt looks…frail. The chronic stress and lack of sleep have sunken his eyes, and his face is gaunter, less full. Hermann’s heart aches.

Through the ride, Newt remains tucked against his side; his face is buried in the crook of Hermann’s neck, body angled towards him. He’s practically unrecognizable, which is the intended effect, as they’re now effectively fugitives from justice.

Well, Newton always did like the Mission: Impossible movies; now he gets to have an adventure of his own. A wry smile twists at Hermann’s lips. All things considered, this may as well be a vacation for the both of them.

When the flight finally lands, Hermann wakes him. He blinks to wakefulness, eyes wide and alert, before he realizes it’s just Hermann and loses some of the caged-animal look in his eyes. “Hermann?” he questions, “what are we doing? Where are we?”

Hermann takes his hand. “Not now, Newton. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Newt says, without missing a beat, and Hermann wonders if he ever thought he would.

The house Hermann has procured them is on a small island off the mainland; close enough to get to by rowboat or a small motorized craft, and discreet. They haven’t much with them; only the essentials are in the small carry-on bag.

Hermann lets Newt take the bed while he unpacks, pretending that they’re both doing something useful.

(The Drift bond still aches from their ten years of separation.)

There’s a sudden, pained cry, and a thump from the bedroom, and Hermann bolts to the bedroom, heart in in throat. Newt’s curled in a ball on the floor, pressed into the corner of the room. His body’s shaking.

“Newton?” Hermann ventures, “are you—are you hurt?”

Newt lets out a dry sob. “I—fuck, I can’t. I just can’t. So don’t make me. I can’t—I can’t do it any faster, please, I swear, I’m doing my best, don’t—don’t hurt Hermann,  _please_ —”

Hermann’s breath catches in his throat. “Newton, it’s alright, I’m right here,” he tries to reassure the other, dropping to his knees, cane clattering to the floor, but Newt makes a terrified whimper and draws in on himself further, mumbling rapidly.

“I’ll be better, I swear, not Hermann,  _please_ —”

 _It’s the Precursors_ , Hermann realizes,  _this is what they did to him._

It lights a blaze of anger in his heart; anger at the Precursors, for hurting Newt like this, anger that Newt is terrified. He watches helplessly, unable to do anything to draw the other out of his state of terror, as Newt rocks from side to side, clawing at his arms.

Hermann lunges forward as soon as he realizes that, in his distress, Newt is digging deep enough to draw blood, wraps his arms around the man, takes a hand in each of his own and pins them to his sides. In his arms, Newt cries out in fear, eyes wild and unfocused, and Hermann’s heart breaks all over again.

Finally, the fight goes out of him, and the violent shaking stops, Newt collapsing limply against him, tears soaking through his clothes. Hermann holds him carefully but tightly, whispers soothing words into his ear. “It’s alright, darling, listen to my voice, alright? Breathe in with me, Newton—one, two, three, four, one, two…”

Newt’s breathing finally evens out, growing shallower until he’s fallen asleep. Hermann stands, carefully, ignoring the shooting pain in his leg, and manages to get Newt under the covers. With a hesitant hand, he brushes the sweat-slicked strands of hair away from his face, presses his lips against Newt’s crown. Newt lets out a soft sigh, the tight lines around his mouth softening.

Once he’s changed into his night clothes, he carefully lifts the covers, afraid that any sudden movement will jolt Newt back into a state of panic. Thankfully, he doesn’t stir, and Hermann positions himself so they both have enough room.

The instant he relaxes, though, Newt throws an arm over his torso, fingers curling against his chest. “…I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice still thick with sleep. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hermann replies, adamantly. “Like I told you, I still…get nightmares. I’m here if you need me, Newton, do you understand? I’m not going to leave you.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Newt murmurs, voice choked, “…thank you.”

Hesitantly, Hermann rolls over, placing his own arm tentatively around Newt, hyper-aware in case it’s a bad move. The physical contact makes him sigh and relax, though, so Hermann leaves his arm where it is. “Goodnight, Newton.”

“Thank you,” Newt says, instead. “I don’t…I don’t deserve any of this.”

“Maybe not, but…” Hermann pauses. “If it helps you, I’m more than willing to keep doing this. And…and physical contact helps me, too. I—” he swallows, emotion flooding his voice. “I missed you, all those years.”

“I missed you too,” Newt says, voice choked. “…goodnight, Hermann.”


End file.
